Live to Serve
by Mwuuh
Summary: Inspired by random words and a random song. This is the result. AU. Tino and Berwald are housekeepers in the early nineteen hundreds, working for their Norwegian master. I haven't written fan fiction in years, so I hope this won't be too bad. Tino/Berwald. Rated M for sex and death.
1. Chapter 1

"Uh-oh." Berwald hadn't had any time to think of anything else to say before he rushed over to where the second housekeeper stood with his hands over his face, completely frozen. It would only be a short time before the man of the house would come bursting into the kitchen and demand to know which one of his precious things they had broken this time.

"I'm so sorry," Tino whimpered as Berwald crouched on the floor to sweep up the broken pieces of the tea pot – which frankly was rarely used for pouring tea, as much as it was for pouring coffee. "I can't believe how many things I've broken this week." He sounded absolutely devastated. "I'm going to get the boot, I know I am."

Just as Berwald had predicted, the house owner opened the kitchen door, almost forcefully. Einar Strand was locally known as a calm and reserved gentleman, but that was just his public figure. However, as soon as he was in his own home, and away from any sort of respectable people, he would show his more grumpy side, taking it out on the maids and the two housekeepers.

"What," he demanded, glaring first at Berwald, then at Tino, "did you break this time?" His voice sounded calm, but Berwald knew he could explode at any point if he did not receive the answers he wanted.

Berwald looked over his shoulder at him from where he was crouching, and stood up slowly with the shattered tea pot in a small dust tray, gradually facing Mr. Strand. It did not matter that Berwald was about a head taller than him; it was Einar who was the boss and he could easily make sure that neither Berwald nor Tino would ever get to work as housekeepers ever again if they made him look bad.

"It's your tea pot, sir," Berwald said, his voice as steady and respectable as he could muster. "I do apologise profoundly. I did not mean to drop it."

Mr. Strand eyed him up and down, his arms crossed. His facial expression was as blank as a face could be, but Berwald knew that behind that expressionless face, there were thoughts running through his head at a rapid pace. Mr. Strand did not spend a lot of time considering what he would do next. He didn't need to.

"You do know," he sighed, exasperated, "that this comes out of your salary, right?"

"Yes, sir." Berwald bowed his head respectfully. "Again, I do apologise."

Mr. Strand gave them a last look, not looking as stern this time. "And do finish cooking," he added. "I'm expecting company very soon, and I imagine he's hungry." He turned to Berwald. "And make sure Tino doesn't try to prepare any food. He's fine when he cleans, but the so-called 'food' he makes wouldn't even be good enough for the alley cats."

"Yes, sir," Berwald said again, and a few seconds later Einar Strand had disappeared out from the kitchen.

He turned to walk toward the dustbin to rid himself of the shattered tea pot, but stopped as he felt Tino's hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, only to find Tino's upset expression gazing up at him.

"Why did you take the blame, Ber?"

"He'd've fired you," he replied simply.

Tino let go of Berwald's shoulder. His violet eyes flickered for a moment before he stared fixedly at the kitchen table. His left hand was rubbing his right one. "I'm not really that bad a housekeeper, am I?" he asked quietly.

Berwald brushed the tea pot remains into the dust bin before replying. "No." He placed the dust pan and the small broom back where it belonged. "Just a li'l clumsy. 'nd not a good cook."

Tino didn't look comforted in the very least. Darn it, Berwald, you haven't helped at all, he thought to himself.

"But you're an exc'llent maid," he added, the faintest glint of humour in his eyes.

This time Tino straightened his back and his face turned red. "I'm not a maid!"

"I mean you're good at cleanin'," Berwald clarified, but it was obvious he had meant to tease. Not even Einar could deny the fact that Tino was downright impeccable when it came to cleaning and tidying, and Einar was highly critical of anything imperfect. Even Berwald, who considered himself a very tidy person, had been amazed by Tino's attention to detail.

Tino cocked his head to the side, but couldn't help smiling a little. "I suppose you're right," he sighed. "Even if I'm clumsy."

"Clumsy maids're very attract've."

Tino sputtered. "Berwald!" The weak smile on Berwald's face made him chuckle, if ever so nervously. "You know we can't talk like this in the middle of the day."

As if out of spite, Berwald walked over to Tino, cupped his face in his hands and kissed him straight on the lips. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before Berwald let go of his lover's face and smiled at him briefly. Tino smiled blissfully back at him.

"What would the neighbours think?" Tino chuckled in a hushed voice.

"Screw the neighbours."

Tino chuckled a bit more, then his face turned serious. "Do you think Mr. Strand would kick us out if he found out?"

Berwald shrugged, and began preparing the dinner for Einar and his awaited guest. Garlic, he decided, would be the key ingredient to a perfect meal. "Don't know," he admitted sullenly. "I've heard rumours 'bout 'im that would make me think oth'rwise," he added. "But..." His voice faded and he seemed to be too preoccupied with the garlic and the knife to continue the thought out loud.

Tino, busy washing the kitchen counter, helped him out with the rest of the sentence. "But it's only a rumour, right?" Berwald nodded. "And we shouldn't depend on rumours." Berwald nodded again. Tino sighed. "It would be bliss not having to hide it," he murmured. Again, Berwald nodded in agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Strand's guest turned out to be more unbearable than Mr. Strand himself. Not in the same way, not in the slightest. While Mr. Strand was quiet and refined in fine company, his guest seemed unaware of the social importance of being modest, intellectual and, most of all, calm and refined.

Before Berwald and Tino had even laid eyes on him, two of the maids in the house had hurriedly shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring the light mist that always seemed to fill the room whenever dinner was being prepared, to complain about him. They told them how he had spoken to them with such filthy words and how he had actually dared to touch them where Mr. Strand wouldn't even think of touching them.

Tino and Berwald exchanged glances, but said nothing. What sort of a man had their mental master invited to his home this time?

As soon as the maids had left the kitchen again in order to do some tidying on the first floor, far away from the obnoxious man in the dining room, Berwald gave Tino a pitying look, or at least what he imagined was a pitying look. Since Berwald was the cook, it would be Tino who would do the serving of the meals. He couldn't help but hope that this guest was only interested in the female part of the human species. Not that they came across many men that preferred other men, but Tino was at times attractive to even the most manly men.

Berwald was an example of this. With his height, his broad shoulders, muscly arms and stern facial expression, very few would have suspected him of being a poofter. Yet, he had never felt anything for women, neither their physical appearance nor their personalities. Sure, there had been women he had gotten along with, but never so much that he'd consider courting them.

This was where Tino had fit in, just like a glove.

Tino, who now currently looked like he wished he had been anywhere else.

"G'luck," Berwald mumbled. Tino nodded nervously before gathering himself, pretending to be as emotionless a servant as Berwald could be at times. He picked up the tray with appetizers and light drinks and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Berwald to his cooking.

* * *

It didn't take long, however, for Tino to burst back into the kitchen with the empty tray and a beet red face. He hurriedly threw the tray onto the kitchen table, marched over to Berwald and stood before him, shaking slightly, glaring into his eyes intensely.

Berwald could just stare at him, mildly confused, with the wooden spoon still in his hand. "What..." he began, but didn't get any further with that sentence before Tino had forcefully embraced him and hid his face in the taller man's shoulder. Berwald recognised this embrace. Tino was furious, but had no means of expressing how furious he was, not without risking his job.

"What 'appened?" Berwald managed to ask before the rest of the air in his lungs was squeezed out of him forever.

"The maids were right," Tino fumed, as much as a man can fume when he doesn't want to make too much noise. "His profanities are absolutely disgusting."

Berwald didn't reply, but waited for him to continue, to elaborate.

"He's already had one too much to drink," Tino continued, still not letting go of Berwald's torso. "But that's no excuse. That's no reason to suggest we sneak off and 'have a quickie' in the lounge as soon as Einar goes to take his afternoon nap."

Berwald didn't know whether he wanted to laugh at the sheer strangeness of this guest, or if he wanted to let him know Tino was already taken. The latter seemed near impossible, especially if this guest was well-known in the area and was likely to tell people that Einar Strand had two fairies for housekeepers. The fact that the guest had made a move on Tino first wouldn't help at all. He could easily deny such a thing.

"'S all right, Tino," Berwald said in a hushed voice, in what he assumed was a soothing tone. He brushed Tino's soft blonde hair. "I'll serve the main course and the d'ssert m'self." He felt Tino loosen his grip and take a step backwards, and soon he could look him full in the face. "J'st don't... don't touch an'thing while 'm out." They had already broken the tea pot today; Berwald wouldn't risk upsetting Einar a second time by having Tino ruin their meal.

The shorter man nodded weakly, and let go of Berwald. He took a step back to give Berwald room to finish cooking, which took close to three minutes at most. Tino himself decided to distract his thoughts by doing the laundry. He knew the laundry was usually done on Mondays, but Saturday was as close to Monday that Einar couldn't possibly see anything wrong with it.

Berwald sighed silently to himself as he gently laid dishes onto the serving tray. One day, he thought, Tino and he would live a life of their own, rather than having to live for someone else. When that day would come was still a mystery, but he still had hope.

* * *

"Ah," Einar said as Berwald entered the dining room with the tray fully laden with delicacies. "Thank you, Berwald. It smells heavenly."

"Thank you, sir," Berwald replied politely. He placed the dishes in front of the diners, one for Einar and one for his already-infamous guest, who grinned broadly at him. Berwald didn't know how, as a butler, he was supposed to react to that. Nobody smiled at butlers. They smiled at the maids, but not the butlers.

"What's the name of this one, then?" the guest asked Einar, gesturing toward Berwald. "What happened to the little one?"

Einar ignored the latter question, and took a sip of white wine before answering. "This is Berwald, my housekeeper. He cooks, he cleans, he serves, and he's been nothing short of a butler everyone would want their hands on. As soon as he stops accidentally breaking things, of course." He shot Berwald a quick glance, and Berwald bowed his head apologetically. "Berwald, this is Søren Kierkegaard." Berwald bowed his head again, this time as a respectful greeting.

"Breaking things?" asked the guest incredulously. "If anything I'd have thought it was that cute boy who broke things. He was as clumsy as a puppy with two legs." He turned suddenly to Berwald, his hand on his chin and smiling. "What's the matter with him, anyway? He looked a bit shy. He flew out of the room in a rush. As if something had bitten him in his butt."

Berwald suddenly felt uncertain. He could feel his master stare at him expectantly, but he didn't know exactly what to say. The truth would be disaster, but in time a lie could also cause trouble.

"He _is_ a bit shy, sir," Berwald replied calmly. "He is not used to being spoken to by the finer gentlemen." As far as this Søren man was considered a 'fine gentleman',

The fine gentleman in question grinned widely and sat up straight in his chair. "He should get used to it while I'm around," he said cheerfully. "I'm going to give him more than just orders. Oh! And those maids, too, can expect something nice from me." He winked at no one in particular.

Berwald had trouble restraining his sudden urge to physically hurt the guest. He knew it was just talk – many of Einar's guests had made eyes at the maids, but none of them had never actually done anything, as far as Berwald knew. But this was _his_ Tino this man was talking about, and he didn't like it one bit.

"You may leave, Berwald," he heard Einar say while waving his hand dismissively. "I expect dessert to arrive in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Berwald muttered, and left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Strand's guest made no further attempt of communicating with Berwald when he returned to serve the dessert, much to his relief. He was allowed to collect the empty dishes and cutlery in peace and return to the kitchen to tidy up without any unpleasant comments from either of the diners. Stopping to think he realised he hadn't seen Tino since he had left to do the laundry. He could be anywhere in the house by now; sometimes when he began cleaning he wouldn't know when to stop. For all Berwald knew Tino could be somewhere inside the wall sweeping away every single piece of cobweb and dust he could find.

This would not be the case, he soon realised, when he found Tino in the living room, half way inside the fireplace sweeping up the cold ashes that had gathered there since the week before. Mr. Strand was very fond of keeping his house warm. Sometimes almost too warm, at least for Berwald and the maids. Mr. Strand and Tino seemed to enjoy it. Berwald couldn't figure out why.

Tino smiled through the soot on his face when he saw Berwald enter the room, clearly pleased to see him. Then he remembered the house guest, and his smile faded quickly. "Did he...?" he began, not certain how to phrase himself. "He didn't do anything, did he?"

Berwald shook his head. "No." He was probably too masculine for Mr. Kierkegaard's taste. Not that Tino was particularly feminine, not at all. There was no doubt he was a man, not with those thin lips, broad jaw, and indelicate way of being. Had Tino actually been a woman, he'd have been thrown out of the house for being the rather inelegant and clumsy mess he occasionally was.

But Berwald liked his kind of clumsiness, Tino's little faults were only endearing to him.

There was a nervous laugh coming from Tino. "Ber, you're staring at me again," he said, continuing with his sweeping. "Not that I'm to tell you what to do or not, but it's kinda uncomfortable— well, not always, but I don't know what you're thinking."

"Mh," Berwald grunted. Sometimes he wished Tino was able to know what he was thinking. Putting words to his thoughts could be such hard work. "Y' need help?"

Tino hesitated. He seldom needed help. When he did need help, he didn't like it; people were always getting in the way, hindering him from doing things the way he was used to. "That's all right," he replied. "I've got this. I think the plants need watering, though."

As Berwald went to fetch the watering can, Mr. Strand and his notorious guest entered the living room, Mr. Kierkegaard chatting rather loudly about something Berwald couldn't quite grasp. Mr. Strand caught Berwald's eye and signalled for him and Tino to leave, even if Tino hadn't quite finished his job (Berwald knew this would annoy him until he could go back and finish it). The housekeepers left the living room, Tino leaving a trail of soot behind him, much to his chagrin, and Berwald closed the door after them, leaving the two gentlemen to their discussion about whatever it was that sounded so very Danish when spoken by Mr. Kierkegaard.

"Now what do we do?" Tino muttered, mostly to himself. He turned to look at Berwald. "Is there anything we _haven't _done today?"

Berwald's eyes twinkled briefly.

Tino slowly realised what the other man was thinking, and he couldn't help smirking. "Fool." Before he could say anything else, the two of them were suddenly aware of the presence of the three maids of the house, who were quickly but quietly gathering by the living room door, each of them arguing in hushed voices which one of them would get to see through the key hole.

The world was a world of gossip, and if you were the sort of person to enjoy this sort of thing, you could be entertained for hours simply by looking at or listening in on other people.

Of course, none of them did this sort of spying when Mr. Strand was alone. They had _some _sort of respect for people's privacy.

Tino wondered briefly if he should ask why they were spying on their master _this _time, but stopped himself before uttering a single sound, thinking that it probably wasn't that interesting. He turned around and decided to head upstairs. Since there was nothing more to do on the ground floor Tino figured he could fold and rearrange the linen in the linen cupboard. "Come on, Berwald."

Berwald, obediently, followed.

* * *

There wasn't much left to do in the house before the autumn evening came creeping up on them, casting darkness over the city long before one could actually consider it to be nighttime. Shortly before Einar decided to turn in, Tino was allowed to finish sweeping up the ashes in the fireplace, to his great delight, and Berwald had been ordered to prepare the guest room for Mr. Kierkegaard. There was nothing much to it, really, and it didn't take him that long to find some duvets and pillows with quilts with matching pillowcases. With any luck he could finish up without meeting Mr. Kierkegaard on the way out.

But he had no such luck. It hadn't even gone a minute before the man in question had entered the room and was watching Berwald doing his job in silence. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, just watching.

After a short while, Berwald found it too uncomfortable to handle, and while fluffing the pillow, he turned to Mr. Kierkegaard and said, "Can I help you, sir?"

Mr. Kierkegaard smiled back at him. "Just finish up there first."

"Yes, sir."

Soon the guest room was presentable, and Berwald turned to the house guest again. "What can I help you with, sir?" he asked.

"Well," said Søren Kierkegaard, dragging out the word, pretending to be thinking about how to phrase himself. "It's about the other housekeeper. Tino, was it? What would it take for him to come visit me in my bedroom in the late hours?"

Berwald felt his entire body tighten for a brief second. He had come across people who spoke this bluntly before, many a times, but it was so absurd to see it uttered by a man of the upper class. At first he couldn't figure out what to say, but then it came to him.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I'm afraid we don't do that kind of thing here in this house."

Mr. Kierkegaard smirked smugly. "Is that so? Well, I had heard otherwise..." Berwald stiffened again. Was there a rumour going around about him and Tino...? He had just begun wondering what they would do if they were thrown out of the house, when Søren continued. "But if you say that's not the case, then I suppose it's not the case. A man can only dream."

There was nothing Berwald could think of to reply to that.

"You're free to go," Søren said, waving his hand dismissively. "But one thing before you do. What is your opinion on free love?"

"Free love, sir?"

"Yes, free love," Søren insisted. "One that doesn't rely on colour, creed or gender, but gives you the freedom to love whoever you like, regardless of who they are."

"Are you talking about homosexuals, sir?"

Søren made a thoughtful face for a moment. "I guess you could consider them as part of what I'm thinking."

Berwald nodded, having understood. "It is not my place to judge that sort of thing, sir."

Søren chuckled, sounding slightly exasperated. "I'm not asking you as a butler," he said, his voice more demanding. "I'm asking you as a person. What do you think about being able to love whoever you want?"

This was highly uncomfortable, Berwald thought. He would much rather prefer to leave the room and not say another word. But he thought it safer, for his own part, just to humour the guest.

"I suppose," he began slowly. "I suppose it sounds good. It sounds good when you put it like that. But who's to say we won't be punished in the afterlife?"

The guest snorted derisively. "I knew you'd give me an answer like that. Very well. You may leave now. I don't want any disturbances while I'm sleeping."

Not even from Tino? Berwald wondered briefly, but was glad nonetheless that Mr. Kierkegaard had given up trying to get to Tino. At least for tonight.

* * *

When the house had gone quiet, Berwald went to his and Tino's bedroom, where he found Tino, covered with even more soot than he had been some hours before, washing his face in the basin. He had already discarded his outermost layer of clothes, which were even sootier than he was. However, his under-shirt and his long-johns were still as clean as a brand new penny.

He turned around as soon as he heard Berwald enter the room, and he beamed brightly at him. There were still traces of soot on his neck and along his jawline. "_Moi,_" he said in a hushed voice. While neither Einar nor his guest would hear them, the walls in the house were very thin; they could easily wake the maids if they were too loud.

"_Hej,_" Berwald replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Did you f'nish cleanin' th' fireplace in time?" He walked over to his bed and began undressing, getting out of that stiff butler's suit and into his comfortable night clothes.

"Yes," he whispered, clearly content with his job well done. He turned to look himself in the mirror, noticed he had missed a few spots, and returned to washing himself a little more thoroughly. "How about you?"

"Was quest'ned by Mr. Kierkegaard," came Berwald's reply. Tino turned to look at him expectantly. "N'thin' serious," he added quickly. "He's def'ntly a bit queer. 'lso, there might be rumours 'bout us goin' 'round."

Tino's mouth dropped open, and he didn't say anything for a couple of seconds. Berwald was about to remind him to breathe when he finally recovered his ability to speak. "Are you serious?" he hissed, trying to whisper and shout at the same time. "About us? How can it— but we've been so careful!" He walked over to Berwald. "Are you sure? What did you hear?"

This time it was Berwald's time to forget to breathe, as he tried to remember why he suspected there were rumours in the first place. "I, uh," he explained intelligently, before figuring out how to speak again. "'Twas just som'thin' Mr. Kierkegaard said," he stated. "Som'thin' 'bout how he'd heard som'thin' 'bout, uh, _things_, goin' on in this house."

Tino kept eye contact with him, staring intently as if trying to figure out if he was lying. He then relaxed a bit. "Are you sure the rumour wasn't about Einar?" he whispered. When he didn't get a reply, he continued. "You told me this morning that there was a rumour about Einar going around. One that made you think he wouldn't fire us for being... you know."

Berwald thought about this for a moment. Søren could just as easily have spoken about Einar as he could have been speaking about them. He couldn't imagine that anyone would suspect him and Tino of having a relationship, not when they'd been so careful, so secretive, but then again why would there be such a rumour about Einar in the first place? Sure, he did not have a wife, nor even a mistress of any kind, but as far as Berwald knew he hadn't made any advances on any type of men either.

"Ber?"

A sigh escaped from Berwald's lips. "S'pose you're right," he mumbled. He didn't want to have this discussion; they knew too little about the situation to gain anything from talking about it. They had no means of finding out more until the next morning. "Prob'ly nothin'," he yawned tiredly.

Tino couldn't help smiling at that. Berwald never looked more animated than when he was yawning. Seeing him yawn was one of the many things he enjoyed about spending time with him.

He placed a kiss on Berwald's lips, and felt a shudder go along his spine when the kiss was returned. As soon as the kiss ended he found himself holding hands with the taller man, grinning up at him rather cheesily. Berwald smiled faintly, which formed dimples in his cheeks.

"Would you mind spending the night in my bed tonight?" Tino whispered.

Berwald's eyes twinkled playfully.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you all right, sir?" Berwald couldn't help notice how deathly tired Mr. Strand looked as he almost crawled his way to the living room. His eyes were baggier than usual, and his gaze didn't seem able to fix itself on anything, but was shifting around as if constantly looking for something. He looked even more tired by the fact that he hadn't gotten dressed yet, and had wrapped himself in his morning robes.

"Hm?" replied Einar, seemingly unaware of Berwald's presence, as he didn't even look at him once. "I'm fine, fine, thank you, Berwald. Brew some coffee for me, would you?"

"Yes, sir."

The master of the house would always request at least one cup of coffee every morning, even on Sundays, the day of rest. Which was why Berwald had already prepared a pot of coffee beforehand, and returned to Einar, who had seated himself in his most comfortable chair, with a cup and a saucer.

"Thank you, Berwald," said Einar as he accepted the cup and blew on it to cool it down before taking the morning's first sip. "Mmm," he sighed. "The best coffee in the country, if not the entire world." He looked up at Berwald with a tired smile. "Have I mentioned how much I appreciate your stay here?"

"On several occasions, sir. Thank you, sir."

"I consider myself lucky to have gotten a hold of so many servants and maids," Einar continued. "Especially now that there are so few of them left. And I have _five_ clever helpers in my household! If I'm not lucky I don't know what I am."

"We're happy to be here, sir," replied Berwald, "if you don't mind me saying so, sir."

It was rare to see Einar Strand smile, if ever so meekly, but it seemed that the idea of his servants being happy made him happy, too. It was a warm smile. Not very wide or bright, but it was genuine, and it told Berwald that he most certainly did _not_ mind him saying so, sir.

His smiles never lasted that long, though, and soon he was back to looking like his normal tired self.

"Is today Sunday?" he asked, sounding bewildered.

"Yes, sir."

"Ah." He took another sip of coffee before continuing. "I suppose you and Tino would like the day off, then?" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Damn chair is not half as comfortable as it used to be," he muttered under his breath. He turned to Berwald again. "I assume the two of you area headed down to the docks again?" Berwald nodded his head. "I don't know why you find those boats so interesting. They're just bits of metal floating on water." Berwald nodded again. "But to each their own, I suppose. As long as you come back in time to prepare me dinner."

"Will do, sir."

Einar nodded, returning to his cup of coffee. "Dismissed," he announced without looking at him.

His servant bowed, then turned around to return to the kitchen. He didn't get far before Einar opened his mouth again.

"Berwald?" he said slowly, sounding uncertain. "Why do you walk so weirdly?"

"Sir?" Berwald turned around to face him again. "Weirdly, sir?"

"You seem to be in pain."

Hopefully Einar wouldn't notice how the blood disappeared from Berwald's face. "It's... it's the small of my back, sir," he replied. "I must have slept in an unnatural position last night, sir." _To say the least, _he thought. "It's not that painful, sir."

Einar smirked humourlessly. He then returned to his cup of coffee once again and dismissed Berwald with a wave of his hand.

* * *

"Look," Tino exclaimed, pointing towards the open sea. "It's the SS Oster."

Berwald turned to look, and saw, in the distance, a black hull slowly coming towards the Bergen Port. The wooden superstructure was of a beautiful coffee colour, decorated by golden letters forming the word "OSTER". On the top was a black smokestack, and on the bow and the stern were perched the Norwegian flag, in case anyone would question its origin (as if it ever left the country, Berwald thought drily). Not that any of them could tell what the boat looked like in such detail from this distance, but Tino had practically memorised all the boats that frequently visited Bergen, and for some reason Berwald couldn't quite figure out, the SS Oster was Tino's favourite.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Tino said, mostly to himself, but Berwald nodded in agreement anyway.

There were several other boats by the docks, some of them from other countries. Berwald couldn't imagine why so many boats were coming to Bergen of all places, but then again it _was_ one of the biggest cities in the country, maybe even in all of Scandinavia.

Tino and Berwald casually strolled along the docks, one of them happily watching the watercrafts, and the other one walking along in silence, as much as someone could walk in silence while wearing clogs.

The sky was cloudy, as it usually was in Bergen; being a city surrounded by seven mountains it meant about three hundred days of rain each year. Or so it seemed to Berwald. He couldn't remember when he last saw a clear sky. It wasn't raining at the moment, but he was certain it was only a matter of hours, if not minutes.

As usual the docks were teeming with sailors and ferry staff hectically rushing back and forth to load and unload cargo and get back to their stations before the ships sailed off without them. It was sort of relaxing, Berwald thought to himself, to not do anything but watch other people do their jobs. He wondered briefly if this was how Einar felt all the time, but his thoughts were interrupted by Tino's voice.

"Do you think we'll ever be accepted by society?" His voice was low, and Berwald could hear uncertainty in the way he spoke the words. He didn't know how to reply at first.

"'n the future," he replied, trying to sound certain about it.

Tino frowned up at him. "Well, it's can't be in the past, now, can it?" He grinned, raising an eyebrow.

A quick smile appeared on Berwald's face before he turned serious again. "But not in th' _near_ future, I think."

He heard a sigh coming from Tino, and he understood that sigh all too well. While he was all too certain that their kind would be a normal part of society in, say, a hundred years or so, they wouldn't be alive to welcome that time.

They watched in silence as the SS Oster docked in front of them. They were so near the edge of the docks that they could almost touch the boat, but they were told to leave so the ferry staff could do their work without anyone getting in their way. Berwald and Tino turned and walked a couple of yards away before turning to people-watch again.

"I suppose we'll just have to live in the shadows for the rest of our lives," Tino mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the men running back and forth.

"Or elope," Berwald suggested.

Tino's sputtering made him grin, which in turn made Tino smile brightly. His smile faded gradually as he seemed to recognise something in the distance. He squinted. "Does that man seem familiar to you?" he wondered, sounding surprised.

Berwald followed his gaze and saw a man in a sailor outfit with dirty blonde hair and pince-nez spectacles similar to Berwald's. He recognised the man immediately as one of Tino's old friends Eduard. The man in question hadn't noticed them yet, but was bound to do so considering Tino's frantic waving and hollering of the man's name.

"Eduard! _Eduard!_"

The man known as Eduard wasn't the only one who turned his head to find out where this noisy ruckus was coming from, but he was the only one who broke into a smile and shuffled over to them. He greeted Tino with a friendly hug and shook hands with Berwald.

"My goodness," Eduard said cheerfully, clearly still not fully comfortable with the Norwegian language; his Estonian accent was very prominent, even compared to Tino's Finnish one. "It's good to see you two! I did not know you lived in Bergen. I was certain you were sent to Oslo or Trondheim, or something."

"We were," Tino admitted. "Sent to Oslo, I mean. But apparently we weren't good enough for our last master, so our new one suggested he take us in stead." He shrugged casually. "Which is fine, because he treats us nicely." He glanced up at Berwald, who raised his eyebrow. "Well, he treats us better than our last master, anyway."

Eduard nodded. "Uh-huh. Who is your new master? I might know who he is."

"His name is Einar Strand," Tino explained. "He's this sort of grumpy guy who likes people in public, but–"

"–but hates people as soon as he's by himself?" Eduard grinned widely. "I know who he is."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. Most people know who he is. I don't know why," he admitted, "but I think he's done something big, or maybe he's just well-known for being well-known. I don't know." His eyes widened a moment as if he had just remembered something. "Does he know that you two are...?"

Tino shook his head. "No, I don't think so. We don't want to risk losing our jobs," he explained. "Oh!" he added, being reminded of a conversation from the evening before. "You haven't told anyone about us, have you?"

Eduard blinked. "Us?"

"Me and Berwald," Tino clarified impatiently.

"Oh. No, I haven't told anyone, I promise. Why do you ask?"

Tino and Berwald exchanged looks of worry before Tino turned to Eduard again. "Apparently there are rumours about us going around," he explained. "We've been careful, haven't we?" He didn't wait for Berwald to reply. "But I don't think we've been careful enough, because all of a sudden this Danish guy comes to visit Mr. Strand and mentions something about something he heard from someone about something."

The way Tino blabbered on like that never ceased to amuse Berwald.

Eduard looked uncomfortable, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. "I don't know what to say," he mumbled. "_I_ haven't told anyone about you. I can't think of anyone who would do so." He looked guilty all of a sudden. "Unless someone overheard our conversation back then." 'Back then' meaning the time Tino told his friend all about his attraction to Berwald. It had been a shock to Eduard, to put it lightly, but in the end he knew it would be silly to abandon his friend for being an outcast in the eyes of society, even if he himself thought it was very strange.

Their conversation had taken place in a closed room without any open doors or windows, but still, could someone had overheard their conversation? But then, how on earth could it have reached Bergen, of all places?

Tino sighed exasperated. He couldn't make heads or tails of anything.

They heard Eduard's name being called, and the man in question had to return to his duties. He ran off after mentioning they should meet up more often, and soon he disappeared into the crowd of sailors.

* * *

Berwald's knew his prediction had been correct, as they ran homewards in the drizzling rain which had come out of nowhere. You really couldn't expect anything else when you lived in Bergen. They barely managed to get home in one piece, as Berwald had slipped – twice – on the wet road, but they most certainly managed to get home completely soaked from the top of their heads to their clogs.

They entered the house from the back door, which led to the kitchen. The room looked as utterly abandoned as it usually did on Sundays. Nothing had been touched since Einar's last cup of coffee that morning. But it wouldn't be long until Berwald would have to prepare some dinner for the master of the house and his Danish guest, and so the kitchen wouldn't look so miserable anymore.

As silently as they could they went upstairs to the first floor in order to find a change of clothes. Luckily Einar had lived in Bergen long enough to understand that a spare set of clothes wasn't a privilege, but a necessity, and Tino and Berwald had to do nothing more than strip naked, hang their wet clothes to dry, and get dressed in clothes that were more or less identical to the ones they had worn just minutes before.

They were about to return to the kitchen when they heard an uncommon sound coming from one of the adjacent rooms. Berwald hadn't heard a sound like this for a long time, and he was certain he hadn't ever heard it inside this house before. But there was no mistaking it.

It was the gloomy sound of sobbing.

They quickly located the room from which it sounded, and Tino gently knocked on the door before opening it slowly. The figure of one of the house maids stood in the middle of the room with her back against the door, trying to iron Einar's shirts despite her uncontrollable despair.

"Alma," Tino said softly, and she turned around to face them, her eyes bloodshot and puffy with tears rolling non-stop down her cheeks. She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand, but to no use; the tears just kept on coming. "Alma, dear," Tino continued, slowly approaching her with his arms open. "What has happened?"

Alma barely managed to set the iron aside before she flung herself into Tino's arms and began sobbing into his chest. Occasionally the two men could hear words coming out of her mouth, but they were so distorted by her broken voice that they couldn't catch any of them. Tino began stroking her curly red hair and said in the softest voice he could manage that everything would be fine, there was nothing to worry about, I'm here for you, you know that.

As soon as Alma had quieted down a little, Tino turned to Berwald, who had stood completely still in the doorway without any clue as to what he could do to help, and he said, "I think Einar would like to have his dinner now. I'll stay here with Alma in the meantime, is that all right?"

Berwald nodded. "Sure." And he left, knowing that if anyone knew how to comfort distressed women, it was Tino. Alma was in good hands.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sir?"

Berwald entered the living room and found the sir in question curled up in his most comfortable chair, wrapped in a woollen blanket, sleeping soundly with his head leaned back against the back of the chair. Berwald could heat a faint, even snore coming from his master.

"Mornin'," said another voice, and Berwald saw Søren Kierkegaard come into the living room from the hallway, wearing a long russet-coloured morning robe of highest quality, and carrying a small tray with a coffee pot and some tea cups. Søren glanced down at the tray and looked back up, grinning guiltily. "I just helped myself to some things in the kitchen," he explained. "You weren't available, and I couldn't find the lovely maids. I'm sure that's all right."

"Indeed, sir," Berwald replied politely. It wasn't exactly customary, what Søren had done, but he saw no reason to deny him this doing. It saved everyone time, so it couldn't be all that bad. "I just came to see if Mr. Strand would like me to begin prepare dinner, or if he would want it later. Sir." He turned to look at his sleeping master. "But it appears he's taking a nap."

Søren chuckled as he sat down in a chair opposite Einar and placed the tray on the coffee table between them. "He nodded off just a few minutes ago," he said, sounding amused by the idea. "Struggled to keep his eyes open for at least a quarter of an hour. I had to snatch his coffee cup from him before he spilled it all over. Sadly I was a little too late, as you can probably see." He gestured at the carpet, which had gained a dark stain next to Einar's chair. He then turned to Berwald. "But I'm sure he'd wake up with a smile if he was awoken by the smell of a nice dinner, don't you think?"

Berwald hardly thought that Einar would ever wake up with a smile, but he didn't argue. It was clear that Søren was definitely not against the idea of having a meal as soon as possible; he probably hadn't even had breakfast yet, considering he looked like he had awoken half an hour ago.

Some food would most certainly give Einar some energy, at least, and he seemed to be needing it. "Will do, sir," Berwald replied, leaving Søren to have some alone time with his coffee.

* * *

Tino hadn't returned from the first floor by the time the dinner had been served. Berwald couldn't help being concerned about this. Alma must've had a really rough time if she needed to be comforted for so long, especially since Alma was the strongest of the house maids, at least emotionally.

There was no use overthinking it now, he concluded as he was preparing the Sunday dinner. The explanation would come sooner or later, but now it was time to cook. He figured that soup wouldn't be too bad a choice, especially this time of the year when the chilly wind was bound to send people to their sickbed. Berwald wouldn't admit it even to himself, but he did feel a bit stuffed these days.

When the dinner had been served in the dining room, he stood idly by in case they needed anything, but not so close that they would feel uncomfortable having a normal conversation.

He noticed how tired Mr. Strand looked as he staggered into the dining room, his eyes barely open and his hair a mess. He offered to guide his master to his seat, but Einar hissed, "I'm not a cripple!" and found his seat on his own accord.

Mr. Kierkegaard, for some reason, found this an appropriate topic of conversation, and began speaking before he even sat down on the opposite side of the table. "I knew this cripple once," he proclaimed proudly. "Lost both his legs after falling asleep dead drunk on the railroad tracks. Woke up without his legs and spent the next thirty minutes yelling for assistance. Apparently," he continued, hardly noticing Einar's disinterest and Berwald's discomfort, "if he hadn't been yelling for help, he would have died. I mean, obviously, because nobody would have heard him if he hadn't, but I was told that _because_ he kept howling, the blood didn't flow from his wounds as quickly as it would have done if he'd kept quiet. Like, the blood still circulating in the body was concentrating on helping this man to call for help rather than–"

"Yes, _thank you_, Søren," Einar snapped impatiently, giving his guest a tired glare. "God be damned, you blabber on like a bloody prostitute. One that was raised in a barn, at that."

Søren stopped the conversation regarding the legless man, but grinned shamelessly back at his friend. "Now, prostitutes, _there's_ a bunch of funny individuals," he continued. Berwald was glad nobody noticed him rolling his eyes. "I happened to end up bedding one from Belarus, of all places, didn't speak a word of Danish, poor dear, so I had to resolve to speaking German. Strange woman, very feisty. Began talking to herself once I had finished with her, she claimed she saw ghosts, but I think–"

"Oh, do shut the hell up!" Einar groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand to express his annoyance. "Søren, please," he begged, in a much calmer voice, "I have an intense headache at the moment. I do _not_ need to hear about your bloody sexual adventures."

Søren opened his mouth again, but was cut off by Einar before uttering a single word. "_No_," Einar snapped, "I do _not_ want to heard about the time you bedded a menstruating woman."

His guest's face whitened. "How did you know I was–" He shook his head and laughed heartily. "I'm _that_ predictable, am I?"

Einar didn't dignify this with a reply, but instead grumbled a: "Your soup is getting cold."

For once his babbling guest found it reasonable to stop talking and begin dining. Berwald was increasingly impressed every single minute Søren refrained from speaking, not to mention relieved by the absence of his noise. Every now and then he would ask Berwald to hand him something, be it spices, a new glass of wine, or new napkins, but apart from that he kept silent for close to ten minutes, at which point he lowered his spoon and looked up at his host.

"Einar," he said in a low voice.

There was no reply. Søren raised his voice a little and repeated himself.

"Mm?" Einar raised his head and looked back at his guest.

Søren hesitated. "Aren't you going to dine with me?"

The question made Berwald frown uncertainly, but he turned to look at Einar, and just as the guest had indicated, Mr. Strand hadn't touched anything in front of him; his soup spoon was completely clean and his glass of wine was still full. There was no response from the man himself.

"Einar?" Søren said again, his voice still low and soothing, as if speaking to a difficult child. "Einar, please eat something. You haven't had anything all day."

"Not hungry," Einar mumbled. He stared at the bowl of soup as if it had offended him somehow.

"Please," pleaded his guest. "Just a couple of spoons. For me?"

There was a long pause in which Einar stared blankly at Søren without a word. Then, after a few seconds, he sighed lightly and turned to glare at the spoon in front of him. Reluctantly he forced down a spoonful of soup, accompanied by a swig of wine. When he tried to have some more soup, he dropped his spoon, which fell first onto his lap and then onto the carpet on the floor.

Einar didn't seem to have the energy to exclaim his favourite profanities, but sat there, staring at the traiterous spoon beneath the dining table.

Berwald was suddenly aware of the fact that he had frozen, unable to take his eyes off of his unusually inanimate master. Even after realising this, he couldn't make himself do anything to help. He just watched as Einar turned his blank stare to Søren again, with eyes that seemed to be void of everything. Despite his infamous blank facial expression, his eyes were always full of emotion, whether it be humour, malice or arrogance. Most often it radiated intelligence.

But now there was nothing. Nothing but a helpless man silently asking for help.

"Sleep," was the last word that escaped him that day.

Normally Berwald would have reacted quickly and helped his master in the best way he could, but he found himself still unable to move properly when Søren had left his seat and gone over to Einar to help him up. Carefully Søren aided the master of the house out of the dining room, and Berwald found that he could move again just as Tino quietly entered the dining room from the door leading from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Tino mouthed. Berwald didn't know what to reply, but waved him over to the other door through which Søren and Einar had just left. The two of them watched as the former supported the latter as they walked along the hallway and entered Einar's bedroom before closing the door.

Berwald turned to Tino, who looked confused. "Som'thin's wrong w'th Mr. Strand," he whispered. "Think he's sick."

Tino frowned. "Are you sure?"

"He wasn't hungry and he alm'st fell over as tired as 'e was. 'M _certain_ he's sick."

"Oh, dear," Tino mumbled concerned. Then he gasped lightly. "Oh, I have to tell you what Alma told me. But not now," he added hastily as he noticed Søren exiting Einar's room and sauntering back to the dining room, probably to finish his own bowl of soup. He noticed how the two housekeepers stared at him, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Nothing to worry about," he informed them with a quick smile. "He's just exhausted. I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"What's wrong with him, sir?" Tino asked as calmly as he could muster.

"Like I said, he's just exhausted."

"From doing what, sir?"

Søren didn't look pleased with being questioned. He frowned a little. "Hating people? Being disgusted by those of lesser intellect? Wasting perfectly fine energy trying to figure out why the world is a horrible place filled with even worse people?" He shrugged. "How should I know? Now leave me, I wish to dine in peace." He walked past them without as much as a 'pardon me', and closed the door behind him, leaving the two housekeepers in the hallway in silence.

The two of them shared worried looks. Yesterday had been such a normal day; how could everything change in a matter of hours? Sunday was supposed to be the day of rest, not the day of people acting unusual.

Tino sighed exasperated and turned to walk upstairs. "Follow me, I need to tell you what Alma said. We need privacy for this."

Berwald, obediently, followed.

* * *

_Thanks for being so patient with me! I don't know how long I'll wait with posting the next chapter, but we'll see.  
I should also mention that the maids aren't based on any Hetalia characters. I just needed some maids, so I made three and gave them names. I hope nobody minds.  
Again, many thanks for smoking-tulips for taking the time to read through these things, she's a dear._


	6. Chapter 6

The house was unusually quiet the rest of that day. Apart from Søren asking if he could have some supper, nobody spoke to Tino and Berwald until the next morning. The devastated Alma had previously been handed over to two very concerned and supportive house maids, who, after a short while had managed to console her enough to cease her crying.

There was no sound in the house that night. It seemed like even the alley cats knew something was wrong, and had remained completely quiet. It was uncomfortable. Even sleeping in Tino's arms wasn't enough to calm Berwald down so he could fall asleep, and he remained awake for God knew how many hours. His mind just wouldn't relax.

He must have fallen asleep at one point, he reasoned when he was awoken by Tino gently shaking his shoulder. For once it had been Tino who had gotten out of bed first, and even gotten dressed before Berwald awoke. There was a minute look of triumph in Tino's eyes.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he said tiredly. "You're going to be late for making breakfast."

Berwald groaned and hid his face in his pillow. "'S Monday," he said, his words muffled. "Th' maids make br'kfast on Mondays."

"Uh," Tino said guiltily. "I kind of promised Alma we'd do it today. Lovise and Ester thought it necessary to keep her company just in case."

_Fine_, Berwald thought. _It's not the end of the world._ He sat up and forced himself out of the bed, and managed to wake up while dressing. "And 'm not sleepin' beauty," he murmured.

Tino flashed a quick grin at him. "Sure, you are," he retorted. "You're beautiful and you're sleeping."

"'M not sleepin'."

"You sure look like you are."

There was nothing Berwald could think of to reply to that. He was all too certain that Tino's notion was correct; he usually _did_ look like a sleep-walking monstrosity right after getting out of bed. Not to mention that he usually donned an unusually stern facial expression, knitted eyebrows included; his face looked even angrier when he was tired, and without his spectacles on he had to squint to get a look at something. This combination resulted in him looking like he wanted to go on a murdering spree and then go back to sleep.

Only those who knew him well knew that there was very little malice in Berwald's body and mind, no matter how murderous he looked. He certainly had his moments where he would dislike someone, occasionally openly, but he was the type of person who preferred to release little spiders into the garden rather than step on them and sweep them up.

Tino had on certain occasions wondered what Berwald would look like if his face was correspondent to his thoughts and feelings. He definitely wasn't an easy man to read.

He picked up Berwald's spectacles and handed them to him. When said spectacles had been put into its proper place, Tino placed his right hand on Berwald's neck and kissed the man on his lips. Berwald was all too glad to return the kiss, and placed both of his hands on Tino's hips. There was nothing better, Berwald thought, than waking up to Tino's scent and touch, feeling his closeness and his warmth. It had to be love, he reasoned, if they were both willing to keep up this socially unacceptable relationship even if it meant risking losing their job, their friends and all forms of respect from anyone of importance.

Berwald jerked when Tino suddenly broke the kiss and coughed once. He smiled apologetically up at Berwald. "Sorry," he said guiltily. "You've got morning breath."

"And you _'aven't_?"

"My breath is as fresh as mountain air!" Tino protested, chuckling and pulling the other man into an embrace. He sighed happily and kissed Berwald's neck. "I love you," he murmured.

"Love you, too," came the reply.

They stood there for a while, just enjoying the moment, until Tino retreated a little and smiled up at his boyfriend. "Come on," he said, still smiling. "Let's go make Mr. Strand some breakfast."

* * *

Berwald was relieved to see that the master of the house was out of bed by the time he and Tino finished setting the table. He looked much more awake than he had the previous morning, not to mention the previous evening, even though he still seemed fixed on the idea that he would not don any other clothing article than his morning gown.

The loquacious guest was nowhere to be seen. Berwald imagined the man was still fast asleep in the guest room, dreaming a dreamy dream about having no consequences whatsoever, or whatever the finer gentlemen of society dreamed of. Swimming in gold and wooing women of all kinds of exotic types, perhaps. It wouldn't surprise him if this was the truth.

"Bread again?" Einar scoffed when his breakfast plate was finally put on the table before him. He seemed unaware of everything else that had been placed upon the table: butter, brown cheese, white cheese, various kinds of jams, salted mutton, and anything else a hungry man would have loved to have on top of his slice of bread. He shot Berwald a tired glare. "There was nothing wrong with that full English breakfast you served the other day."

"I'm sorry, sir," Berwald replied politely. "I'm afraid we didn't have all the ingredients to make a full English this morn."

"Do you have eggs?"

"Yes, sir."

Einar forcefully shoved the plate into Berwald's hands. The slices of bread nearly fell to the floor. "Fry some damn eggs to go along with this."

"Right away, sir."

* * *

It was done in a jiffy, and soon Einar was scoffing down his breakfast with enthusiasm. Berwald was pleased to see that his master had recovered from yesterday's inappetence, and was not particularly happy with what he and Tino were about to do.

He retreated for the time being, letting Mr. Strand consume his breakfast in peace. It wasn't until Mr. Strand had finished eating and seated himself in the living room that Tino and Berwald approached him, cautiously. The look he gave them would have been enough to scare away the bravest of men, but it was a look one got used to over the years, and neither Tino nor Berwald intended to back off.

"What is this?" Einar demanded.

Tino swallowed before speaking. "Sir," he began, as politely as he could muster. "There is something we think we ought to tell you, sir."

A frown appeared on Einar's face. "About what?"

Both housekeepers knew immediately that Einar was not in the mood for serious conversations, especially not ones where he had to lift a finger to do something about it. On a regular basis they would have taken the hint and gone away, but Tino was persistent, and Berwald had no intentions of leaving his side.

"It's about Mr. Kierkegaard, sir," Tino said, keeping his voice steady. He folded his hands behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. "We have reason to believe that he's not particularly pleasant towards the maids."

Einar's face was unreadable. "Go on," he said coolly.

This was very uncomfortable, and Berwald knew Tino thought the same. "Well, sir," Tino continued, his voice not as composed anymore. He took a deep breath. "Yesterday Berwald and I found one of the maids crying and I went to comfort her while Berwald went to make you dinner, and she was crying so hard that she couldn't speak properly, but from the few words she _did_ say I can only gather that Mr. Kierkegaard has, uh..." He hesitated a brief moment. "That he has made his moves on her... against her will." He took another breath. "Sir."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, in which Einar's piercing eyes drilled straight through Tino, who appeared to put all his energy into not buckling under the stare.

Einar's expression remained the same. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asked calmly. "Are you saying you think that Søren _forced_ one of the maids to bed him?"

"Y-yes, sir," Tino stuttered.

"I see." The master of the house crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "You are saying that the man who has been my best and most supportive friend since I went to university twenty years ago, is not the man I think I know and that he actually is a devious barbarian?"

_Uh-oh,_ Berwald thought, as Tino's face whitened. This conversation was about to be shot down.

"Sir?" Tino squeaked.

Einar's glare didn't falter. "The man of whom you speak, Tino," he continued, "has been my closest friend for more than twenty years, despite the fact I find his attitude insufferable on some occasions. I have known him for longer than you two have been working for me, and he and I know each other better than a pair of siblings would know one another." His voice remained calm and steady, but the two housekeepers could sense the anger coming from him. "He is an insolent man with no knowledge of how to act like a gentleman, and he likes his beer cold and his women hot, but never _ever_ would he force his person upon anyone else. Is that understood?"

"But sir!" Tino protested desperately. "What if you're wrong! What if, just this once, Mr. Kierkegaard―"

"Not another word, Tino!" Einar snapped. "I am willing to ignore this conversation if we end it here."

"But... sir!"

"No more 'buts'. If I hear another word about you two suspecting my guest of such savage behaviour, you're going out the front door, head first. Is that clear?"

Tino looked like he wanted to protest even more, but he knew better than to test his master's patience.

"You should be happy I'm willing to ignore this. Imagine having housekeepers who suspect their master's closest friend of such things! Questioning their master's judge of character!"

He shook his head in exasperation. "You will refrain from talking about him in such a manner again." Both housekeepers nodded solemnly. "I can't believe you two. Of all people." He exhaled sharply. "Which one of the maids was it?"

Tino and Berwald briefly exchanged worried looks before Einar continued. "I _order_ you to tell me."

"It was Alma, sir," Berwald said, not particularly happy with betraying the poor maid. "Please, sir," he begged. "Don't be too hard on her, sir."

Einar pointed a finger at him. "In this house it is _I_ who decide what to do and what not to do." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Brew me some coffee, Berwald. Tino, tell Alma I wish to speak with her."

"Yes, sir," said the housekeepers, far more unhappy than they had been for a long time. This would not end well, no matter how they looked at it.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of that day was unbearable. Not only were they forbidden to further suspect Mr. Kierkegaard of what they had accused him; they were also both set to do so many tasks that day that they hardly had time to see each other. After Tino had told Alma that Einar wanted to see him, the two men didn't see any of the maids that afternoon, which wasn't particularly reassuring. Berwald could only imagine what poor Alma would have to suffer through with their impossibly stubborn master.

As much as he would like to ignore any orders given from Mr. Kierkegaard, who somehow had managed to get out of bed before noon, Einar had ordered them to do whatever his guest asked them for. "None of this biased nonsense is going to get in the way of me having dutiful servants," Einar had insisted. "I wouldn't care if you thought he was going to destroy humanity as we know it; you'd still have to obey his orders as long as he's a guest in my house."

And so Berwald had been restricted to the kitchen, switching between preparing meals and washing and tidying everything from the floor to the ceiling, his only companion being one of the alley cats who had made its spot in the window sill, silently awaiting for Berwald to offer it a small token of appreciation in the shape of meaty leftovers.

Wherever Tino had gotten to was beyond Berwald's knowledge. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with Mr. Kierkegaard's nonsense. He reassured himself with the thought that if anyone made a move on Tino they would soon find out how strong and determined Tino really was. If Tino didn't want something, it wouldn't happen.

"Berwald."

Berwald spun around, dragged out of his thoughts, and faced his master, who stood by the kitchen door. His expression was unreadable, but the tense vibes he had radiated earlier that morning had ceased to be for the time being. He had gotten out of his morning robes and wore a stiff attire normally worm to impress neighbours and fine society.

"Yes, sir."

"What's that cat doing in the window?"

Nonplussed, Berwald turned to cast a glance at the grey cat in the windowsill, before turning back to Einar. "Sleeping, sir."

"I will have none of your wit, Berwald," Einar replied rather impatiently. "Throw it out and close the window. I don't want cat hair on anything."

"Yes, sir," said Berwald, and did as he was told. He gently awoke the cat and picked it up before placing it on the ground beneath the window, and then closed said window. The cat shuffled away nonchalantly. Berwald turned to face Einar again. "Was there anything else you wanted, sir?"

"Yes." Einar paused for such a long time that Berwald began to feel uncomfortable. He was about to say something when Einar took a deep breath and began to speak. "Søren and I are going out today," he said. "Ivan has invited us to dinner, along with a lot of other people, I think you know some of their servants, actually. Toris, is it?"

Berwald nodded. He knew Toris. A servant whose clumsiness could compete with Tino's, Toris was a very nice man despite his lack of humour and his constant fear of disappointing his master, but they weren't _that_ familiar with one another; they could hardly even consider each other friends.

"In any case, you don't have to prepare anything for tonight, not for us," Einar continued. "You just make some for yourselves like you usually do, and the maids will help themselves to whatever it is these ladies actually eat. I won't be coming home until late, so don't wait up; I'll be taking a key with me. All right?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a pause in which Berwald thought Einar was staring through him. There was nothing in Einar's face that revealed this to be true, but the sensation was too intense for Berwald to simply ignore it. "Is there," Einar said hesitantly, after a short moment, "anything you wish to say, Berwald?"

This was obviously where Berwald was supposed to apologise for disrespecting Mr. Kierkegaard that very morning, but he couldn't make himself do it, not quite yet. In stead, he said, "Where is Alma, sir?"

Einar blinked, but his expression remained the same. "Don't worry about her, Berwald," he said coolly. "She's going to be all right."

_Such vague words,_ Berwald thought. They weren't reassuring him in the very least. "If you say so, sir."

"I _do_ say so, sir," Einar replied, not a trace of humour in his voice. "Next time don't interfere in someone else's business. I know you mean well, but sometimes that can lead to even more trouble."

"Yes, sir."

Einar gave Berwald one more look. "Once you finish doing what you've been told to do, you can take the rest of the day to recuperate. But don't leave the house. I don't want any of you to leave the house this evening."

"Understood, sir."

"Very well. I'll leave you to it." And with that being said, he turned around and left the kitchen, leaving Berwald completely alone again, this time not even with a cat for company.

* * *

Normally Tino and Berwald would make the most of the time when Einar was out of the house, especially if it was the maids' day off as well, spending the daylight in each other's arms as if there was no tomorrow. But this particular day there was no such thing. Not only because the remaining maids were still in the house, but also because that the general mood lingering in the building killed all sorts of good feelings.

Tino was miserable on Alma's behalf, and Berwald wasn't particularly happy either. They had just made the house maid's problems worse when they had tried to help her, and the guilt was suffocating them.

The two were seated in Einar's personal library, each of them with a book in their hands. Although he had finished the first chapter of his book, Berwald was unable to read any further due to his thoughts spinning around in his head at such a rapid pace. He was certain that Tino hadn't read a single page of his own book.

The rain was pouring down from the sky, hitting the windows hard, a cacophony of nature's protest against man-made structure. It was usually a very relaxing sound, but just this once it wasn't very effective. In fact, Berwald became increasingly annoyed with the sound, and had to put his book away once he admitted to himself that he wouldn't be able to continue reading.

Tino looked up from staring at his book when Berwald set his back in the shelf. "How are you doing?" he asked quietly. His eyes were understanding, but also concerned, and there was a faint reassuring smile on his face.

"Not good," Berwald admitted. Tino nodded comprehensively. "M'worried," Berwald continued. "Not only 'bout Alma, but 'bout Einar 's well." He elaborated before Tino could add anything to the conversation. "Think 'e's losin' 'is grip on reality. Blinded by 'is own stubbornness. C'mpletely unwilling t' see what's 'appening."

"I know," Tino said, nodding again. "He's so bullheaded, I don't think we can ever convince him of anything he doesn't want to believe in." He sighed. "And he certainly doesn't want to believe that his friend is anything but a saint. Well, uh, a lady-loving, beer-drinking, loud-mouthed saint, anyway." He smirked. "If such a thing exists."

"Pr'bably."

"What do you think is going to happen to us?" There was so much uncertainty in Tino's voice that it almost broke Berwald's heart. He just wanted to gather him up in his arms and hold him for eternity and a day, until all uncertainty ceased to be and was replaced by total comfort and assurance.

"Berwald, you're staring at me again."

He shook his head in order to stop staring. Darn that bad habit of his. It was fair enough when he stared at Tino, because Tino had gotten used to it after a while, but when he began staring at strangers or Einar's guests, nothing good would come from it. Einar had scolded him on several occasions because of it.

"M'sorry." He forced a brief smile. "D'nno what'll 'appen to us. But it's taken a turn for th' worse."

Tino lowered his gaze and nodded solemnly. Berwald seated himself on the sofa next to Tino, wrapped his arm around him and kissed him on his temple. His free hand gently caressed Tino's upper arm, and Tino leaned into his warmth, happily accepting the comfort.

"But I won't leave you," Berwald added in a hushed voice. Tino murmured something in reply, but it was muffled by the fact that he was hiding his face in the pit of Berwald's neck. Whatever it was, he understood the sentiment in the way he said it.

* * *

It was a surprise to find Einar and Søren coming home no later than half past nine that evening. Berwald had been so certain that they would be out till midnight at least, but when he welcomed them home by the front door he could understand why they had retired as early as they did; Einar didn't look that well, with his skin whiter than usual (which was saying something, considering how pale the man was to begin with), and his baggy eyes slightly violet with exhaustion. It was obvious that Einar had been too tired to stay there for much longer.

He was gently guided inside by Søren, who was smiling amused at Einar's dependence. "Hey now," he laughed. "Don't let the booze do the walking. _You're_ in control of your own body!"

Einar snorted derisively. "I haven't been in control of my body for many years," he slurred grumpily. He forced himself to stand up straight with a little help from Søren. "There we go. Ah, Berwald," he said once he noticed his servant's presence. "I assume everything's gone fine here."

"Yes, sir," replied Berwald politely. "Did you have a good time, sir?"

A humourless smirk formed itself on Einar's face for a short moment. "I got to do what I intended to do," he declared rather proudly. "I told people what I think about them, I drank a large percentage of Ivan's wine cellar, and I was thrown out of his house for insulting him." He shrugged casually. "I just told him his nose was big, and his nose _is_ big, so what's he so upset about? I'm going to have to apologise for that later."

He turned to look at Søren, who kept close in case his friend would topple over. "You," Einar demanded. "I'm tired. Would you help me to my bedroom? I can't even see my own hands at this point."

Berwald watched as Søren happily guided Einar along the hallway, both smelling of liquor of various kinds, and both showing no concern for making too much noise. Tino had gone to bed already, but he was bound to be awoken by the noise his master made on the ground floor.

Berwald was on his way upstairs when he heard his name again. He turned to look at Einar, who glared tiredly at him.

"Sir?"

"Remember this, Berwald," Einar commanded. "You and Tino have been the best housekeepers I've ever had. Despite what the two of you did this morning, I still love the both of you. Do you understand?"

Berwald was completely stumped. He nodded uncertainly, and before he could come up with a proper reply, Einar continued:

"I want you to know that I appreciate every single ting you and Tino have done for me in my house, even if you sometimes break things. Accidents happen. But you're not annoying, pathetic excuses for housekeepers, and neither are you stiff butlers without personalities. I may not have shown my appreciation openly, but I'm telling you now. Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome, sir," Berwald stuttered, taken aback by the strangeness of his master. Before he could say anything else, Einar had turned again and was once again guided by his Danish friend along the hallway.

Alcohol could make people say the weirdest things, Berwald mused. He discarded his master's odd behaviour as a case of the alcohol doing the talking, and he continued upstairs to get ready for bed. Had anything been different about the scene that had just taken place ― had Søren begun reciting what had happened at Ivan's, or had Einar completely ignored Berwald and walked straight to the master bedroom without a word, or had Berwald decided not to wait until morning with sweeping the floor in the kitchen ― Berwald would have noticed what was wrong with the picture.

But he did not.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Sex in this chapter, by the way._

* * *

The sun had set a long time ago, and by the time Berwald had retired to his bedroom the entire house was dark. There was no need to leave the lights on at night, not in this part of the city. As far as he knew nobody in this neighbourhood had ever been robbed, at least not during the night.

The bedroom was dark as well, but he knew the room by heart. He undressed and found his way to his bed without a word, placed his spectacles on the bedside table, and closed his eyes, trying to push away the restless thoughts whirring around in his head.

Something stirred at the other side of the room, and he heard Tino murmur, "Is everything all right?"

Berwald sighed tiredly, not opening his eyes. "Mh," he grunted. "Einar 'nd Søren 're home. Mr. Braginsky threw th'm out. Gone t' bed."

At first there was no reply, but Berwald could hear rustling of sheets and the sound of someone shifting into a more comfortable position. He knew exactly how uncomfortable these beds were, but there was really nothing they could do about it. The mattress in Einar's bed wasn't particularly soft either, so it wasn't a question of how rich one were, but rather one of how to find ones of quality. Einar certainly did not possess this ability, despite his large circle of acquaintances.

"Berwald?" came the whisper again.

"Mh?"

"Come sleep with me?"

Swiftly Berwald had left his bed and gotten comfortable next to Tino. The bed was quite narrow for the two of them, but as long as they lay as close to each other as possible, it usually wasn't much of a problem. Worst case scenario, Berwald would topple over the edge and get mildly bruised, which, quite frankly, wasn't anything new.

Tino buried his face in the pit of Berwald's neck, wrapping his sturdy arms around his waist, and sighed happily. Berwald returned the hug, gently caressing Tino's back with his thumb. There was only the two of them now. Outdoors the alley cats merrily sang out-of-tune songs to each other.

"'Ny reas'n?"

"Mh?" Tino breathed tiredly. "If there's any reason I wanted you over tonight?" Berwald just nodded. "I just needed to hold onto something, someone, I knew would be there in the morning." Tino yawned and hugged Berwald a little tighter. "I could lose my job tomorrow," he continued in a whisper. "My job, my home, my life... But I can't imagine you ever going anywhere."

The only way Berwald knew how to respond to that was to kiss the top of Tino's head.

"Not on purpose, anyway," Tino added in a low voice. Berwald felt his breath on his neck, and it was a familiar feeling that would often send chills go along his spine. This time was no exception.

"Y... Y' _sure_ that's th' reas'n y' wanted me 'ere?" he whispered breathlessly.

Tino chuckled as quietly as he could. "Well," he said slowly, showering Berwald's neck with little kisses. "I might―" kiss "―have wanted―" kiss "―something more." More kisses. "While we still have time."

In all honesty Berwald could have let Tino press his lips against his neck for all of eternity; it was one of his most favourite sensations. But it would be unfair to Tino to let him do all the work, so he dissolved the embrace so he could lead Tino's lips to his own, and Tino was more than happy to comply.

The two of them sat up in the bed while giving each other little kisses, before they leaned into each other, the little kisses melting into one big one. Berwald moved his hand to Tino's neck, enjoying the familiar taste of Tino's tongue... had he had chicken sometime earlier today? There was a strange chicken-like taste, but Berwald couldn't remember if there had been any chicken in the kitchen lately. Perhaps Tino or the maids had gotten a hold of it without his knowing.

Oh, boy, the maids. He was not looking forward to finding out what Einar had decided regarding what had happened that morning.

"Berwald..."

Slowly, Berwald realised he had distracted himself with his thoughts. Tino gave him an understanding smile.

"I'm worried, too," he whispered. Then his gaze dropped. "I really am. But I want to do this anyway. I have a feeling this might be our last night in this house."

Berwald frowned. "Why?"

"Well..." Tino hesitated. "Einar might be so cross with us for offending Mr. Kierkegaard, that he will throw us out."

There was a short moment of silence before Berwald smiled a little. "I don't think so," he said, his voice hushed. "Just b'fore I came 'pstairs, he told me how much he v'lues us."

"What?" Tino demanded, clearly not convinced. "_Einar_ said that?"

"Mh." Berwald nodded, and leaned in to kiss him again. "Think it'll be a long time till we're fired," he muttered between kisses.

With a casual shrug, Tino returned the kiss with an enthusiasm that made Berwald topple over onto his back. It was just almost that he didn't fall over the edge of the bed, but before he could concern himself with this fact he found himself pinned down by Tino, with said man's tongue in his mouth. There was that chicken again― No, Berwald, stop distracting yourself. For God's sake, you have a lustful man on top of you, and he wants to make you feel good. Don't ruin this.

What was the most difficult about pleasing each other like this was to keep quiet enough not to wake anybody else in the house. The maids's room was right next to theirs, and they would probably have heard them had they decided to cuddle in Berwald's bed. This was likely why Tino's bed looked far more worn down and smelled faintly of olive oil, while Berwald's bed looked fairly new in comparison.

Tino's tongue suddenly escaped from Berwald's mouth, but it wasn't too long until he felt Tino's lips working its way down along his neck while moving his hands up inside Berwald's night shirt, knowing from years of experience where to touch to avoid tickling him. Soon Berwald found his shirt lifted up over his chest, Tino showering it with kisses, occasionally brushing his lips against Berwald's nipples. Berwald had to choke a groan, and Tino worked his way down his torso, enthusiastically kissing as much skin he possibly could without exerting himself.

When Tino pulled Berwald's pyjamas trousers down he knew he couldn't contain himself any more; his penis stood erect despite the coldness of their bedroom, and knowing what was to come Berwald clutched the sheets to keep his hands from fidgeting. Tino's hands slid down from Berwald's chest until they reached his hips, at which point one hand moved to the base of Berwald's cock, quickly followed by Tino's lips gently kissing the tip of it.

Berwald lay back and enjoyed the sensation of Tino's mouth sliding up and down his throbbing member, reminding himself not to make a sound ― which was becoming increasingly difficult ― and moving his hand to Tino's hair, stroking it appreciatively. He could feel Tino smiling for a brief moment before returning to concentrating on pleasing Berwald orally.

After about a minute Berwald felt Tino move away from him, releasing his erection with both his hand and his mouth. Berwald raised his head to look at him, as much as he could look at anything without his spectacles, and saw Tino smiling playfully from where he sat.

"Roll over," he whispered. Berwald knew what was to come and he couldn't help but shudder gleefully at the very thought. As he turned over to lie on his stomach he heard Tino get out of the bed and retrieve the bottle of olive oil they kept in their room ("in case we run out of it in the kitchen, sir, we'll have one to spare"), before he undid his own pyjamas trousers and got back into bed with Berwald, who found himself rather impatient.

"How are you doing there?" Tino asked breathlessly, as he poured some oil into his hand, cool drops dripping down onto Berwald's buttocks.

"Mh," Berwald whimpered.

"What was that?"

"Don't make me beg," Berwald muttered. "Please," he added, somewhat ironically.

Tino chuckled and leaned down to place kisses upon his man's muscular back, and with a sudden jerk Berwald felt one of Tino's fingers entering him, carefully, as not to do any damage in the process. Berwald felt his face flush as Tino inserted another finger, and yet another, into him, and it took all his concentration not to groan. As a solution he bit down on the pillowcase and clenched his hands around the bedsheets. Tino had managed to find the very sweet-spot, both with his fingers and with his lips, and Berwald wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep quiet. This happened every time they slept together; they would both be on the verge of groaning for the whole house to hear, but had somehow managed not to. How long would it take until the inevitable would happen? Should they just stop having sex altogether? Berwald wouldn't even have considered it.

After a while (which Berwald considered too short, to be honest) Tino retracted his fingers and ceased the kissing. Berwald peeked at him over his shoulder and saw him smearing oil onto his cock, and Berwald's glee rose sharply. He returned to bury his face in the pillow and waited impatiently for Tino to advance.

He could feel Tino's hands on his hips, pulling him up so he stood on his knees and elbows. Gently, Tino entered him, and though it hurt it also felt so great that Berwald found himself biting the pillow again in order to avoid making any sounds. As Tino slowly slid further in he adjusted his position to a more comfortable one.

"You all right?" Tino whispered, as he slowly thrust himself into the other man.

"Mph," Berwald responded, preoccupied with enjoying the fact that he was with his face in a pillow and with his rear in the air, being sexually stimulated by someone he loved more than anything else in this world.

"Great," Tino muttered, sounding slightly amused. Carefully he thrust his hips once again, and soon he would quicken the pace and settle for a steady, pulsing beat. Berwald, in his exhilaration, couldn't help but push against him, as well as he could while he was silently gasping into a pillow and trying not to whimper.

The only sound in the room was the sound of flesh pounding against flesh, occasionally interrupted by a choked gasp. There was a distinct smell of sweat and sex, accompanied by the poignant smell of olive oil, which usually just lingered in the background but was currently the dominating smell in the room. The curtains were drawn, but that didn't hinder the bleak moonlight from casting light on the wooden floor, and in the far distance they could hear the alley cats continue their out-of-tune singing.

Berwald couldn't help releasing a minute moan once Tino had once again managed to locate his sweet-spot. The pillow wasn't working, he realised; he placed the base of his left thumb in his mouth and bit back any exclamation threatening to escape from him. It was painful, but Tino's steady penetration made him forget about the pain, and in stead relax his mind and give in to the desire.

It was Tino's steady breathing becoming heavier that pushed Berwald over the edge, his blood rushing rapidly from one part of the body to the other, his throat almost sore from trying to keep quiet, his entire body shuddering with delight as he came. As Tino's breathing became irregular and sharper, Berwald knew Tino had finished, too, and the two of them collapsed onto the bed, one on top of the other, both exhausted and content.

Berwald rolled over, allowing them both to embrace one another, and he kissed his beloved ― there was that chicken again ― as if to thank him for his hard work. He flashed him a dimpled grin, and Tino, chuckling soundlessly, kissed him on his lips again, and sighed happily. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too," Berwald mumbled, still smiling blissfully.

They lay there in silence, in each other's warmth, for some time, before there was a sharp knock at the door and the sound of said door opening.

"NO!" Tino bellowed, rapidly getting out of the bed and pulling on his pyjamas trousers. There was a squeak from the person at the door, followed by quick footsteps, and by the time Berwald had gotten his spectacles onto his face, there were nobody in the room, but he could hear Tino's anxious voice trying to reason with their unexpected guest.

With his heart in his throat Berwald got a hold of a blanket and wrapped it around his waist. He proceeded to exit their bedroom and looked down the hallway to find Tino and Lovise hissing words at each other. When Berwald approached, Lovise looked up at him, and they ceased the whispering.

Berwald couldn't do anything but give them questioning looks.

Lovise looked pale with shock, her green eyes wide open. It appeared she was trying not to mention what she had just seen. "I need help," she whispered, her voice shaky. "There's a dead body in our back yard. I don't want to bother Einar with it."

As much as Berwald and Tino wished to explain everything to her and make her promise to keep it a secret from everybody, they couldn't quite make themselves do so; the fact that there was a dead person on their property was far too serious for them to even consider changing the topic.

"We'll be with you in a moment," Tino mumbled, and hastily returned to their bedroom, taking Berwald with him, to get dressed.

Berwald couldn't help thinking that the world was crumbling around them.

* * *

_A/N: ... aaaand that is the first time I publish any sort of smut whatsoever. Please be nice. *hides*_


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning:** Character death.

* * *

Lovise hadn't been lying; there really was a dead body in their back yard.

Warmly dressed, the two housekeepers couldn't look away from the mess the maid had stumbled upon while looking for a midnight snack. It wasn't uncommon to find someone dead from drinking too much and dressing too thinly during the late autumn, but they were usually by the docks, in alleys or sometimes even in the parks; there had never been one in Einar Strand's back yard before now. It was an awful sight, mainly because they recognised the dead man.

It was Ivan Braginsky, whom Einar and Søren had visited earlier that very night. He lay on the grass, face down. He was as tall as Berwald, with a compact body and an obviously Russian face, with his prominent cheekbones and his broad jaw. One would have thought that since he was Russian he would have survived the cold autumn night, but clearly this was not the case.

"What do we do?" Lovise hissed..

Tino kept his eyes fixed on the body. "I... I suggest we should get a hold of the authorities?"

Lovise nodded in agreement. "The police, probably? Berwald, could you run down to the station and get them?"

Before Berwald could say anything, Tino came to the rescue: "I'll do it. I'll be right back." And off he ran.

Grateful that Tino had understood how little Berwald had wanted to run after their most recent night-time activity, he let out a little sigh. He took a few steps towards the dead man, and crouched to get a closer look at him. His face looked at peace, but there must have been a damn good reason why he had decided to collapse in Mr. Strand's yard. Or maybe not such a good reason, Berwald mused, taking the half-empty bottle in Ivan's hand into consideration. Its contents looked home-brewed.

"Wh-what would make him c-c-come all the w-way over here?" Lovise whispered, her teeth chattering with cold. She had not, for some reason, dressed warmly.

Berwald turned to look at her. He considered her question for a moment before an answer came to him.

"Einar told me he ins'lted Mr. Brag'nsky this ev'ning," he muttered. M'be he came to demand Einar apol'gise?"

Lovise shrugged. "P-probably." She hesitated uncertainly. "D-d-do we take him inside, or do we leave him there?"

"Not sure," Berwald mumbled, looking back at the corpse. Poor Mr. Braginsky. He had certainly not deserved to end up like this. The police wouldn't be too happy if they moved him, but it felt wrong to leave him there. He mentioned this, and in his peripheral vision he saw Lovise nod her head in agreement.

* * *

In the end the two of them had decided to carry Mr. Braginsky inside; leaving his body out in the cold seemed wrong, even if he wouldn't feel a thing, dead as he was. Neither of them had the heart to leave him outside and try not to think about what they had just found, so in stead they dragged the poor man indoors, as silently as they could in order not to wake the master of the house and his guest, or anyone else for that matter. A minor reason for taking him inside was that the neighbours could quite easily spot him lying there should they for any reason decide to look out their window in the middle of the night. Einar did not need this sort of gossip.

Berwald and Lovise sat silently against the wall, both of them staring at the body slouched in the corner of the hallway. Lovise had taken the bottle from him and placed it on the floor next to him, as if she expected him to wake up and look for his drink. But he lay there, white as the snow that had not yet reached Bergen, his damp hair plastered to his face, with his eyes closed and his chin resting on his chest.

Everything was silent.

It was not a comfortable silence.

The two of them kept staring at the man whose dinners were the finest in the area. It didn't matter how respectable you were, nor how refined a gentleman you were; Ivan decided himself who he wanted to invite over for dinner. He was a man who was blunt about what he thought about people (although he wasn't particularly happy when others were blunt towards him), almost childishly so, and would only invite the ones he liked, regardless of their social status.

"Sooo," Lovise began, dragging the word out. "You and Tino do it with your night shirts _on_, huh?"

Berwald cringed uncomfortably. "Please don't tell an'one what y' saw," he begged, not looking at her. He knew his face was flushed with embarrassment.

A nervous chuckle escaped from Lovise's lips. "You're not the only ones with secrets, you know," she said cryptically, and when Berwald turned to give her a curious look, she just smiled teasingly back at him, before leaning close to him to whisper her secret in his ear with confidence that he wouldn't tell anyone else.

When she leaned back again, Berwald gave her an incredulous look. "Really?" he asked, and she nodded excitedly, a faint blush decorating her chubby cheeks.

They exchanged grins for a brief moment before the soberness of the situation caught up with them, and they turned to stare gravely at Mr. Braginsky again. From that point on it didn't take long before they heard Tino return with a couple of policemen.

* * *

As expected Berwald and Lovise were told that they shouldn't have moved the body, and the tired policemen couldn't help but to be a bit annoyed with the whole situation, replying exasperatedly to what they reckoned to be 'dumb questions', and grumbling to themselves as they took Ivan's body with them. _Why_ was there always some sort of crime during the night? Didn't criminals sleep?

The three household workers were promptly questioned by the most sour-looking of the officers, whose eyebrows were so unbelievably bushy it was distracting. Tino had to ask him to repeat himself several times, which certainly didn't make him any more agreeable.

The questions asked were as expected: how did you find him, where did he lie, in which position did he lie, what time was it, et cetera, et cetera. The policeman looked as keen as they were to finish up this business and go back to sleep, which had almost caught up to them all. The three of them explained everything, with minor twists to the truth: Lovise had gone downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat, when she saw a body in the back yard, and she went to get Tino and Berwald, who were sleeping in their bedroom. And, quite frankly, it wasn't _that_ far from the truth. The policeman took notes.

"It does look obvious," said the policeman, with a slight foreign accent Berwald couldn't quite place, "that he's gotten drunk and frozen to death, but could any of you think of why he would end up in this particular yard?"

"What?" Tino asked, this time not out of distraction, but out of confusion. "Uh, he got drunk and ended up here coincidentally?"

"Is it _really_ a coincidence that Mr. Braginsky ended up in this particular yard?"

"Of course it was, how could―" Tino's face fell. "Oh." He turned to Berwald. "You think they had a fight, or something? I mean, Einar _did_ offend him and get thrown out of his house. Perhaps something else happened that he didn't tell you?"

Berwald couldn't imagine that Einar and Ivan would ever have a proper fight, but he couldn't quite find it in him to deny it in front of a policeman. In stead he shrugged. "M'be."

"I see," the policeman grunted. "I'm afraid I will have to question Mr. Strand myself. Any information is useful. Where is he at this hour, do you know?"

"Sleeping," Lovise said flatly.

"I wouldn't wake him up if I were you," Tino added quickly. "I'm not here to tell you how to do your job, but I would have waited until he woke up on his own accord. He can do quite a lot of damage if you interrupt his sleep. I-I-I mean, not _serious_ damage," he corrected himself, realising just how dangerous he had made Einar sound. "I mean, glares and orders us around, but he... he wouldn't... uh..." His voice faded.

The policeman shot him a curt look. "I'll take my chances."

_Of course you will_, Berwald thought bitterly. _You're not the one who will suffer the consequences in the morning._

"Wake him up for me, please," the policeman asked the maid. He turned to Tino and Berwald. "Please wait in the living room until I return," he told them. Grudgingly, Lovise did as she was told, and showed him the way to Mr. Strand's bedroom, not at all looking forward to facing Einar's tired anger.

* * *

As predicted Einar was not pleasant to deal with at this hour. Shortly after the policeman and Lovise had gone to wake him up, he appeared in the living room where Berwald and Tino currently sat, his eyes baggy and his brows knit into a deep frown. He cast a quick glance at Tino and Berwald but said nothing to them, and slumped down in his chair by the fireplace. Berwald couldn't help worrying about his master; in addition to looking tired he also looked like his morning robes were simply hanging from his joints. Berwald had never noticed how skinny his master was. Never before had he seen collarbones that prominent.

The policeman entered as well, and it didn't take long until Lovise followed, tailed by Ester and, to Berwald's surprise, Alma. A long minute passed, and Søren entered as well, struggling with draping his own robes around himself. He, too, looked deathly tired, and there was not a trace of humour in his face. Apparently his happy-go-lucky attitude wasn't available at night-time.

"What has happened?" he asked, looking briefly at everyone in the room.

"Please take a seat," said the policeman.

Søren and the maids hesitated. There weren't enough seats for everyone. The sofa in which Tino and Berwald sat had one seat available, and there was also the chair opposite Einar. The solution was simply for Ester and Lovise to sit on the armrest on either side of the sofa. Reluctantly Alma sat herself next to Tino, offering him a quick smile which didn't reach her eyes.

"As I mentioned to some of you before," said the policeman, who was still standing, "there's been a death just outside this house." Ester gasped audibly, and Søren looked dumbstruck, staring at the policeman, who continued talking. "It appears obvious that he had simply gotten drunk beyond compare, waddled over to your back yard, fallen asleep, and simply... well, there's no way to sugar coat it: he died." There was a second of uncomfortable silence in the room before he continued. "Despite the fact that the death looks obvious, I would still like to hear what happened, from last night at Mr. Braginsky's social arrangement, up to the point the police arrived at the scene."

There was a light groan of exasperation coming from Einar. He'd much rather have waited until morning with this nonsense, but he knew it was pointless to complain. He rested his head in his hand, his eyes closed, and muttered, "You tell the story, Søren."

Søren looked horrified at his host. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Everything."

The Dane looked unhappy by the very thought of it. Berwald sat up a bit, his curiosity increased; if the truth could make the boisterous, shameless guest uncomfortable, it must be something worth listening to, whether it be nothing more than juicy gossip, or something delicate ladies and young children should avoid hearing at all costs.

"I suppose," said Søren, slowly, "I could try. I had a bit to drink, so I might not remember everything, but I'll do my best."

Nobody mentioned that the foreign policeman might have problems understanding the man's language, but for all they knew he might be fluent in Danish. The worst that could happen was that Søren had to repeat himself several times, look at the Norwegians with a helpless look, and have them explain. This very thing happened a few times during his depiction of what had happened that evening. By the end of the story none of them knew what to think.

Søren began. "It was a dark and stormy-"

"No," groaned Einar, his eyes still shut.

His guest looked crestfallen, but continued talking, surprisingly enough uninterrupted by any sort of attempt at being funny.

* * *

_A/N: This is dreadfully boring. I'm sorry you had to wait two months just for me to post this anti-climactic thing.  
(Also, my laptop died, but hopefully I'm getting a new one soon. I can't keep writing and drawing at work.)_


	10. Chapter 10

"Einar and I arrived early at Mr. Braginsky's house," Søren narrated, trying his best to speak so the Norwegians could understand, "but he didn't mind. He just smiled and ushered us in, as if we'd arrived just on time, and told us to make ourselves at home. Einar introduced me to him, and we had a short conversation about how attached we are to our home country. He liked it here, but he wanted to go visit Russia again soon. You know, things like that.

"We were served some fine wine, and I'm not going to lie: it was delicious and we probably had a little too much of it too quick." He offered an apologetic grin. "It didn't take long for the rest of the guests to arrive, although Mr. Braginsky complained about this one person who was always late, and probably wouldn't be there for a couple of hours. At that point I was slightly tipsy, and so was Einar, by the looks of it. I mean, his face was flushed red, which usually indicates he's had a few too many.

"Normally I wouldn't have batted an eyelid at the fact that Einar had become intoxicated. Hell, I've seen him drunk off his arse with his face in a cactus, singing a love song for the one who got away, or something." Einar didn't cut him off, despite the embarrassment of his alcoholic adventure. Søren continued. "But I'll be damned if he gets drunk beyond compare after a couple of glasses of wine. That just doesn't happen. He's got the stomach of a concrete elephant!

"And yet, there he was, having stood up from his chair, waddling towards the nearest bottle of wine and upending it into his glass. I thought to myself, 'Thank goodness he didn't drink straight from the bottle!'. Although he did act like he was addicted to alcohol at that point, he had managed to remain perfectly polite in his attitude. He chatted with them about everything and nothing, which is strange because usually he can't abide small-talk.

"But he kept this up. He flattered the women, complimenting them on their hair and dresses, and they, as usual, were pretty taken with him. He had longer conversations with the men, about something I couldn't quite catch; they spoke too quickly. I wouldn't have thought anything was out of the ordinary if it hadn't been for the fact that I suddenly noticed that Einar looked exhausted. He looked dead tired, and I knew it was just a matter of time before he'd want to leave the place and go home.

"After an hour or so, the last person arrived, much to Mr. Braginsky's delight, and Einar's, too, it seemed. As soon as the last guest had gotten himself comfortable, Einar carefully hit his glass with a spoon, gathering everyone's attention. 'A speech?' I wondered. 'What on earth would make him hold a speech? This wasn't a special occasion, was it?'

"'Let me tell you,' he said, 'how much I appreciate you all.' The guests and Mr. Braginsky perked up a little and chuckled approvingly.

"'I am not an old man,' he said. 'But I feel I have lived a long life. I have travelled far away from my home country, and, I assume, so have you, Ivan. That's nice. Travelling is fun. At least it was back when I was a teenager. Oh, boy, was it fun.' Then he paused for a moment, as if trying to remember what he was going to say. 'Oh, yes. I have known you for a long time. Not only you, Ivan, but also most of your guests. I have known your sisters, both of them, and despite the fact they're uncomfortable in my country, they are nice girls. Your older sister, especially. Your younger sister, not so much.'

"At that point I was certain Mr. Braginsky was going to be angry with him, but in stead he just nodded his head in shameful agreement, and reluctantly he let Einar continue. 'I have gotten to know many people. I'm not very social, but despite this I have gotten to know many people. What I have learned from this is that people are revolting. People are annoying. They are scum, they are hypocritical, they betray you, they abuse you, they murder and steal and pillage, and once you find someone who isn't that annoying, they go and die on you. Just like that. No words, no final good-bye, just death, the end.'

"He took another pause, sighing. 'I will be going on a journey,' he said, his voice calm and quiet; some of the guests had to come closer to hear what he had to say. 'I'm going to travel again. Travelling is fun. It doesn't rely on meeting people. It relies on you, and you alone. Mostly. And since I will leave soon, I wish to say my good-byes to you, Ivan, and all my friends here in this room. The reason being that I don't plan on returning, so tonight might be the last time you see me.'"

Søren looked over at Einar, as if asking for permission to continue. Einar's eyes were void of emotion. "Continue," he said.

The Dane took a deep breath. "What he told Mr. Braginsky and his guests was... it was as if he hit them with every insult he had gathered up during the time he had known them. Even the pettiest little detail was uttered in disgust, and it surprised me that none of them left the room to avoid having to listen to it. It was as if they told themselves they could handle it, that they were better than that, that Einar's words did no harm. But it was clear by the time Einar had stopped everyone felt hurt, most of all Mr. Braginsky. He marched up to Einar, asked him if he was done talking, and when Einar nodded he grabbed him by the collar and threw him out the front door. I ran after them, certain I was no longer welcome either.

"By the door Mr. Braginsky glared at me, and I was shocked to see that the well-respected man's eyes were full of tears. I couldn't find anything to say, so I just walked past him and out the door, which was slammed shut shortly after. I looked for Einar, and I saw him leaning against the fence, trying not to fall over.

"I tried not to mention what he had just done, as I supported him on our way back home. In stead I tried to keep our spirits up, because, well, I thought that, Einar was still my friend. He still is. And as his friend it is my duty to get him off the streets and back into his own home so that he doesn't end up dead by the—" He interrupted himself with a squeak. "Sorry. As I said, I had to support him, because he was completely legless. You saw that when we returned, didn't you, Berwald?"

Berwald was startled out of his trance once he heard his name, but nodded in affirmation.

"And from that point," Søren continued, "I put Einar to bed, made sure he would stay there and not wander around like a rebellious, drunk toddler, and then I went to sleep in my own bed." He shrugged, looking up at the policeman. "Before I knew it there was a knock on my door and somebody had died in the yard."

The policeman shot Einar a look. "Is this true?"

"As far as I remember," Einar muttered, "this is completely true."

"What did you mean by the things you said at Mr. Braginsky's?"

The master of the house offered a weary shrug. "I do remember saying them, but I am unable to remember why."

The policeman gave him a curt look. "Is that true?"

Einar nodded.

"Who were sleeping at this point?" continued the policeman, turning to the others in the room.

Alma and Ester raised their hands. Tino hesitated before he, too, raised his. "I was _almost_ asleep, if that counts," he said nervously.

The policeman gave Berwald and Lovise a quick look each. "Would you like to continue from where Mr. Strand and his guest returned home?"

It was very late, or possibly very early, and Berwald would much rather go to bed and forget about everything. His weariness would prevent him from speaking properly, which he usually did around the authorities and gentlemen like Einar and Mr. Kierkegaard. "They r'turn'd earlier than 'xpected," he said, trying to enunciate clearly enough for everyone to understand. "Both were drunk. They went straight t' bed, 'n so did I. Didn't see anythin' unusual."

The policeman scribbled down his notes rapidly, which were probably unreadable to anyone but himself. He then looked back at Berwald with a suspicious look. He pointed his pencil at him. "What happened to your hand there?"

In all honesty Berwald had forgotten all about the bite mark he had given himself not too long ago. His hand was now decorated with a perfect row of red marks, which could have passed for an eccentric person's tattoo. But Berwald wasn't an eccentric person; he couldn't afford to be.

"'S nothin'," he said, sounding a bit defensive. He decided to elaborate. "I... bite m'self wh'never 'm—" trying to keep myself from groaning with delight whenever Tino is ramming his cock up against my prostate "—wh'never 'm stressed." He averted his eyes, as if ashamed.

"It's true." Berwald was surprised to hear his master account for his lie. "He thinks I haven't noticed, but I've seen him gnawing on his fist every now and then, when he's got too much to do and not enough time. Or if I have insufferable guests over," he added, gesturing feebly at Mr. Kierkegaard, who offered an apologetic smirk. "I'm actually surprised he thinks he can keep it a secret, since it keeps turning that vibrant shade of red."

Berwald looked at his master, curious. Not that the curiosity showed in his face, as he was fully capable of keeping a straight face whenever necessary—and often when it was unnecessary.

With a dismissive wave with his hand, the policeman decided to turn to Lovise, who was desperately trying to keep her eyes open. She had closed her eyes a few times during the questioning, but she kept waking up with a jerk and a snort whenever someone raised their voice.

"Me?" she asked, slurring. "You've heard my story already."

The policeman was impatient. "Let's just have it one more time."

The maid sighed, but Einar gave her a quick look, and she straightened her back. She took a deep breath before beginning. "I heard that Mr. Strand and Mr. Kierkegaard had come home," she informed, "and by then I was in the kitchen looking for something to eat. I had had dinner earlier that night, but look at me; I didn't become this size for no reason, you know. And I was hungry.

"When I heard them come home I ran out of the kitchen to hide, in case they came in and found me eating out the pantry. I'm sorry, Mr. Strand," she added, looking apologetically at Einar, who gave her a short nod; she was forgiven, but he was going to talk to her about it later. "So I went to the bathroom and decided to clean the bath tub," she continued. "I did that, and I cleaned a little more, and before I knew it it was late.

"I went back to the kitchen to discard what was left of my nibblies, and once I was there I happened to glance out of the window. And there was Mr. Braginsky, on his face, and I thought he'd gotten drunk and fallen asleep. I went out to him to wake him up, but when he didn't wake up I panicked and went upstairs to Berwald and Tino's room, quietly so I wouldn't wake Mr. Strand, and I got them to help me out.

"Then Tino ran to get the police," she said finally.

The policeman nodded. "You did something while Mr. Tino came to get us, didn't you?"

"Huh?" Lovise looked nonplussed for a moment before she realised what he was talking about. "Yes. Berwald and I took the body in, because we didn't know what else to do. The neighbours could have seen it, and we just... we just thought it didn't feel right to leave him outside." She shuddered uncomfortably at the memory.

"That's all, is it?" asked the policeman.

"Yes."

The house's recidents remained quiet while the policeman looked through his notes. He was frowning, concentrating on what he had written down so far; probably trying to decipher his own handwriting, Berwald thought to himself.

"Good," said the policeman, with the air of someone finishing up a project. "If that's all you've got to tell me, then I shall go. I will contact you if we need further details. _Don't_ leave the city," he added sternly, looking at Einar, who looked blankly back at him. "I don't know when you're planning on taking this vacation of yours, but if you leave within the next week it will seem suspicious. Capiche?"

"Certainly, sir," said Einar. He stood up, shuffled over to the policeman and shook his hand. "Hopefully this is all just an unfortunate accident."

* * *

The incident had caused them all to be rather on edge, and although Einar had told his staff to go back to sleep, few of them were able to sleep for long without waking up from an uncomfortable dream of some sort.

Berwald did get _some_ sleep, though, and he was grateful for that. He got just enough to be able to get out of the bed the next morning and get ready for whatever the day had in store for him.

Tino, possibly even more tired than Berwald, offered his best tired, comforting grin, and placed a soft kiss on Berwald's cheek, as if to encourage him to go on as if everything was normal.

"You need a bath," Tino murmured tiredly.

Berwald snorted in amusement. "I'll take one t'night. D's that please m'lord?"

A grin spread across Tino's face. Then they proceded to return to their daily chores, if ever so reluctantly.


End file.
